Warning: Exetreme angst, cutting, suicide, may be triggering
Shadows infiltrated each corner and crept over the cold, untouched ground and spread along the bare walls. The darkness enveloped every crevasse of room. One light, miniscule and weak, emerged from an almost hidden window . Silence echoed reverberated throughout the claustrophobic mind prison. Yet, the room was not empty.
Silent breaths shallowed and wracked the thin body huddled tightly to themselves with quiet sobs. Stringy, brown hair cascaded down his neck and shielded his hazel eyes from making the invading shadows of his mind into a reality. Pale skin pulled taut against deteriorating bones gripped and scratched at quivering knees as if they were a life line. His form, cloaked in clothing as tight as his skin and as dark as the room revealed his rocking form.
As the rocking began, a soft, almost inaudible stream of consciousness emerged from cracked and bleeding lips.
"Dead...I should be...Dead..."
The sobs increased for but a moment. A single tear glistened through the curtain of hair and staggered, hindered, down his face and onto his rib cage, following alongside a faded red scar.
One hand scratched and tore at the thin layer covering his knee and the other retracted and found its place upon his bare arm and dragged his nails so that they sliced through the skin as if a scalpel.
The sobs quieted slightly as his thin face lifted enough to let hazel eyes peer through and stare at the light directly below the lone window. However, his eyes darted away and rested themselves instead upon the shadows sprawled directly before you. Irises unmoving, eyes unblinking.
"Why has this not ended...I can make it end...The one thing I may be able to accomplish...Succeed..."
The shivers wracking his form transformed into tremors as he began to untangle himself from his protective position. Hindered only slightly by winces from reopened wounds of prior, he maneuvered himself onto his knees. Without thought, his hands immediately began clawing at his stomach, ripping deftly through cloth, creating additional, uneven wounds along nonexistent fat.
"Can't be beautiful...Normal...He said...Hideous...Inside and out...Bleed it out..."
His right hand dropped and caressed the cold tile beneath him in search of shining metal. It took but a mere moment for the tips of his fingers to collide with it. Upon impact, the sharp metal sliced subtly through skin; a small wince and smirk acted as the only indications. He ran his fingers along its side until they were bloodied and encompassing the hilt holding metal. With minimal effort, he rose his arm toward the forearm of other. As the blade moved swiftly through air, the slow, common beat of his heart began to race in anticipation.
The blade drooped and sunk its smooth blade into the taut flesh and dragged it slowly along prominent veins. Ecstasy ran through his form as the physical pain began to overcome his senses to such an intense level that his worthlessness could recede into the recesses of his complex mind, even if only for that moment. However, as the blade sliced deeper and further along the arm, the emotional barrier persisted. The moment the shimmering metal attacked his shoulder, it was removed, yet it remained within his hand, clutched tightly to his chest, as a child would a blanket. He began to move the injured arm, relishing in the pain that accompanied the movement.
Soon; however, the pain numbed and the blade sunk into flesh once more next to its predecessor. Dark crimson life spilled down his already mangled arm. It spooled beneath him, staining the tile red and warm and sheathing his knees in a true semblance of life and death.
Unwilling to halt the inevitable desire, he lifted the blade from flesh once more and simply waited as the blood poured from the wounds; from his veins giving life to death. Relishing the pain, the wincing subsided to be replaced by eyes glowing in the hope of death. The warm blood and emotional barrier allowed the unending shivering to diminish until naught but breathing shook his form.
The breathing shallowed; mere pants, small, quite intakes of air forced his body to continue striving for life. Moments passed.
Extended moments, lasting as long as the light and darkness.
And it did.
Breathing subsided. Motion ceased. Pain eradicated. Life ended.
Time passed and a quick succession of resounding knocks disturbed the unnatural stillness. Upon receiving no response, an impatient hand turned the single knob and creaked open the guard thereby allowing for light to flood into every crevasse and allowing the darkness to fade.
Shock greeted him. He ran toward his brother and, without fear or hesitation, took his thin, pale, still form into his warm arms and hugged him to his chest. An angel holding a demon. A light's attempt to protect the mortal from the darkness of their heart and mind.
It was too late. The darkness could not be destroyed without the mortal form in accompaniment.
Muscular arms lifted him from his tomb of shadows and turned to face the guard, the shield from human contact, and stepped into the light.
"Cas..." a broken voice rang in the stillness and an instant of light flashed, then nothing; the flurry of wings in the darkness eradicated, leaving a solemn man remaining in the ethereal glow.
The lithe form of Sam was placed in stable, unhindered ethereal hands.
"It will be better for you," eased Cas; tone undetectable.
Both forms were enveloped in whiteness.
"Death will bring all you desire."
Black invaded the white and began to transform the pure into a cloud of gray.
The gray encompassed the forms completely, tainting the darkness and the light, never to be pure, and allowed for flesh and blood to fade from reality.
Fade from existence forevermore.
Author's Notes: This actually began as a non-Supernatural story, but with a few revisions, it was made into one. I find that the more triggering work that I create has more impact upon me and thus has a different flow which I tend to enjoy more.
Essentially, this was an experiment to see other's reactions to my more angsty work.
Additionally, this is how I picture Sam wishing to end it; I do not know why, but he is the one to follow through on suicide in my mind. And seemingly, I like putting my boys through emotional torture.
Word prompts are being written as well, should anyone care. Meaning more romantic, fluff stories are underway.
Hope you enjoyed. Reviews are lovely. 3